the race

the race

by troy cady

It is as if

we said,

“Can we join

you for your jog

in the cemetery?

Let us run with you

in circles on the narrow paths.

We will obey the small stop signs,

bright and new. Lead us.”

And when we wanted to leave

we found the gates chained

and the walls too high to scale.

And now it is as if

we have no one but ourselves here

with nothing to drink

but acid rain

collected in old cones

containing rotted flowers

and nothing to eat

but the corpses

of the souls we killed

in our fervor

running the race.

Let us rest in peace.